


Wisps of Smoke and Colourful Souls

by AmiLu



Series: Soulmate AUs [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drabble Sequence, Future Slash, Gen, I will make this clear now: ROMANTIC FEELINGS ARE YEARS AND YEARS FAAAAR AWAY, Like... waaay in the future, M/M, May Or May Not Be Continued, Reborn is too, Slow Burn, don't ask me about the title, for now is aaall very platonic, harry is adorable, just FYI
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-08-15 01:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8036242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmiLu/pseuds/AmiLu
Summary: Dreams are odd. They are not consistent, they are not always remembered. Linked dreams are a particularly rare type. Nobody knows what triggers them, or it they are triggered at all. Some people support the idea that they happen when something important needs to be shared between soulmates, some others say they are random occurrences. They happen. That's the only certain thing.(Or: the one in which Reborn meets his little soulmate in a dream.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have this trash. It has been bugging me for a while now and although it is completely self-indulgent and who knows if it will ever get completed, I needed to post it.
> 
> I just wanted to write a KHR/HP crossover. And a soulmate!AU. So this thing was born. Oh, and don't ask me about the title. I have no idea where it came from. As I stated before, this was written on a whim.
> 
> Enjoy?

**WISPS OF SMOKE AND COLOURFUL SOULS**

 

* * *

**1 – First Meeting**

* * *

 

 

Renato was thirteen the first time he awoke in a different mindscape. He was surprised and suspicious, because he had long ago given up hope.

He fingered his gun as he tilted down his black fedora, extending his senses around him to try and detect a clever use of Mist Flames.

A tug on his pants abruptly turned his attention downwards and he pointed his gun towards the threat that had evaded all his senses, and then he froze. Huge, innocent green eyes peered curiously up at him, blinking and crossing a little as the owner tried to focus on the weapon that was being pointed at him.

Once the young hitman processed and registered that he was, in fact, holding a baby at gunpoint, he quickly secured his weapon in a holster strapped to the small of his back before taking a hasty step back.

The child gurgled and clapped his hands merrily, to which Renato's only response was a dark glower. The baby didn't seem fazed by the heavy scowl and simply squealed, lifting his arms commandingly towards the teen. Renato narrowed his eyes and studied the tiny thing.

One year old, happy. A mop of dark hair over soft, white skin. Green eyes that were becoming brighter and bigger and was that a quivering pout?

Renato decidedly did not want to deal with a bawling baby, thank you very much. If bending to the creature's demands and lifting it awkwardly in his arms was the way to avoid the waterworks, he'd gladly forsake his pride and carry the thing. It's not as if there was anyone there to be a witness.

The baby giggled, all sadness forgotten the moment Renato perched him on his bony hip and the tiny monster had access to his curly sideburns.

Renato's eye twitched, but he let the menace play with it because he figured that it was better than his other options. And as long as it didn't try to—

“No, don't do that!” Renato whined. He didn't care that he considered himself to be much too old to be whining, having a baby sucking on his hair was a good enough excuse in his books to let it slip. “Let go, bad baby.”

Either the little being understood him, or his reproachful tone was enough to let him know that he had upset the teen, because the eyes filled with tears as the now soggy curl was released. Renato swore mentally in crude Italian but softened his expression into a smile. It felt awkward and almost foreign on his face, because he was not used to it. Smirks? Sure. Smiles? Not really. He didn't quite remember when had it been the last time he honestly smiled. Probably when his mother was still alive, and before he was dragged into the underworld.

“It's fine, _bambino._ I'm not mad at you,” he said softly, and just like the smile, it simply didn't feel natural. But it helped calm down the kid, so he supposed it was fine.

(And if his efforts were rewarded with the happiest toothy smile he has ever seen directed towards his person, and if suddenly Renato knew that he was utterly and completely gone, well. Nobody had to know.

Damn if his soulmate wasn't the cutest little thing ever.)

 

 

* * *

**2 – Darkness Begone**

* * *

 

 

They met again six months after the first dream. Renato was immediately on guard, because even as it felt similar enough, there were so many differences at the same time that he couldn't help but take his gun out once again.

A startled gasp made him turn on his feet, eyeing around the darkness suspiciously.

That was it. That was the biggest difference. Last time they had been in a large space, airy and warm. Renato had felt safe there, embraced by a sense of comfort and love. There had been soft colours such as blue and crème and yellow gold mixing indistinctly as they swirled and danced around them, undisturbed and unassuming, slow enough to not result dizzying.

In contrast, this place was dark, damp, and felt really cramped, even if there were no easily discernible walls. It worried him greatly, because mindscapes usually reflected the state of mind and the living conditions of their owners, and Renato knew instinctively that this was not his. (Not at this point in time.)

“ _Bambino?_ ” He called softly, lowering the gun but not putting it away just yet. Being cautious had saved his life numerous times already, which is why it was an instinct he was trying to cultivate. More so now that he had discovered the existence of his soulmate, who would be targeted immediately if it became known that the hitman 'Reborn' had a weakness.

(He might have been rather young and he might still have been considered new to the workings of the Mafia, but Renato was cunning and sly and adaptable, not to mention pretty deft at handling guns and using his Flames. He was rapidly making a name for himself in the underworld, and he was sure that his life would continue in that venue for the foreseeable future. It was too late to pull out now, and the only viable way to secure the safety of his little soulmate was reaching the very top. Only when he became feared enough that nobody would dare try anything against him would he dare to seek out his soulmate in real life. Until then, the dreams would have to be enough.)

At the sound of his voice, the darkness shuddered and wavered, as if it were something tangible that was about to break. There was suddenly a spot of light—dim and barely there, but enough to let Renato distinguish the small silhouette of his soulmate, sitting on the floor and curled around himself in a way that he was intimately familiar with. As the teen took an uneasy step forward, the boy _flinche_ _d away_ and if that didn't scream fear and loneliness and self-defence, Renato didn't know what did.

Renato was going to murder someone. He was sure. Someone had dared harm what was _his_ , and such a thing would not—could not—go unpunished.

He struggled to calm down, because the kid was already scared and seeing Renato in a murdering rage was not going to help.

The teen breathed through his nose once, twice, and after getting a reign on his temper he secured the gun behind his back. Looking around again, Renato mentally scowled. The place was too gloomy and dark still, and that wouldn't be conductive to coax his little soulmate into a calmer state. The easiest solution Renato could think of was creating light himself, though he wasn't sure if that was possible. He was in a dream, after all, and he couldn't be sure if Flames worked inside them. Fortunately, they immediately flickered on to life on his left hand once Renato called, seemingly eager to obey their master.

The sudden brightness and crackling sounds immediately got a response from the toddler. Renato noticed the boy uncurling a little and studying Renato with a curious but still guarded gaze.

The hitman inspected him right back but with much more finesse, and he felt himself getting worked up again because now that he could see the boy better, he was not liking what he saw. At all. He was dressed in clothes that were way too dirty to be the result of a day playing outside, and his cheeks looked much too thin to belong to a two year old baby. The wariness in the green eyes did not belong there, either.

Renato struggled to reign in his rage and not let it show up on his face. Cautiously, as if he were approaching a hurt wild animal, he moved towards the boy and slowly crouched right in front of him, being careful to leave enough space between them so that the toddler did not feel trapped.

The little one regarded him for a minute, tense, before he hesitantly relaxed as it became apparent that Renato did not wish to hurt him. Curiously, the boy then turned towards the Flames and Renato smiled, gently offering his hand to him to inspect. The teen passively observed as the boy closed the short distance between the two until he was close enough that if he wanted to, Renato would be able to embrace him. Big green eyes searched his face for confirmation before the boy felt it was safe to carefully reach for the bright yellow flame with one of his little fingers.

Renato would scold him afterwards, once the infant became comfortable with him, because he did not want him getting burned by doing the same thing with real fire—but for now, he let him play with the Flames, safe in the knowledge that they wouldn’t hurt the boy.

“Pwetty,” the baby said softly, reverently, and Renato learned with that simple word that the boy spoke English. It was a good thing that he had started learning it already, or communication might have become complicated between them in the near future.

He smiled slightly wider and nodded encouragingly when he noticed the cautious gaze on his person, as if the little boy was expecting to be chided and silenced. His simple acceptance was enough to ease the child's mind and it also earned him a tiny smile—a pale imitation of the first one Renato received just six months before, but a smile nonetheless.

Renato then swore to himself that he'd do anything in his power to keep the little one smiling.

 

 

* * *

**3 – Names**

* * *

 

They met with increasing frequency after that. Renato was sure that it wasn't a common occurrence with other soulmate pairs, as he had discreetly asked around for information to a couple of secure sources that would not tell a soul—dead bodies didn't usually blab, after all—, but he was thankful nonetheless.

It helped to make the boy grow comfortable with him rather quickly, and he was soon asking questions and politely requesting to play with Renato's Flames every time they met, green eyes bright with excitement.

He was glad.

Renato could say with utmost sincerity that he hated the little boy's relatives with a passion.

It didn't take much to coax the _bambino_ into telling him how he was treated at home. Renato wasn't even partially placated by the knowledge that his Aunt and Uncle didn't beat him up, because he knew from first-hand experience that while being abused physically hurt, it was emotional and psychological abuse what made the worst damage. Broken ribs heal, bloody noses stop leaking, purple bruises disappear. Being constantly and systematically put down and ordered around without any kind of reward? That had serious repercussions in the development of a child's personality. Being starved? That was slow torture, cruel and barbaric. Especially if there were resources available that made it easily avoidable. And judging from the comments the little one made about 'Dudley', Renato knew that the family had enough money to raise both children properly.

It was obvious that they hated his little soulmate, for whatever reason.

(In turn, Renato hated them right back—with a vengeance.

And the hate of a hitman was not something anyone was keen on inspiring towards themselves. Those pigs were doing it without knowledge, but that did not mean that _Reborn_ would go easy on them at all.

No way in hell.)

The only reason he hadn't stormed off to take the little one away from them the moment he got a clear picture of what was happening in that household was the fact that he didn't know where they were. Sure, Renato knew his boy spoke English, and he knew that he lived with three people: Aunt, Uncle, and Dudley. But that was it. He didn't even know the little one's name.

(He clenched his teeth and felt his blood boil every time he remembered the time when he had asked for it, and received the innocent answer of _“Fweak”_.)

The fact that he had needed to be really careful in his movements hadn't helped, as his position in the Mafia had not been in any way stable yet, and a single wrong move could have spelt the end of him.

(And where would that leave his _bambino_? With the only positive emotional support in his life absent, Renato dreaded to imagine what could become of him. The boy might self-destruct.)

So he did the little he could. He listened to his chatter, answered the questions he was able to answer, and promised to look up the answers he didn't have. He comforted him when he had a nightmare, rebutted his relatives' claims about his worth, taught him how to be sneaky enough to avoid punishments and get enough food. He taught him English and Italian and when eventually Renato started learning French, the little boy learned it right on par with him.

Three years passed in this rhythm, and slowly things started to look up for them both.

Even without permission, the small boy got enough food to regain the baby fat he shouldn't have lost in the first place. That did not mean that he was fat in any way, because honestly the boy was still rather skinny and small and would probably forever be short, but it was much better than what could have been. He had learned not to listen to his relatives' taunts and to take everything they said to him with a grain of salt, because it was probably false, anyway. He had learned that he would never be able to please everyone, and that he didn't need to try. Renato liked him just the way he was, and the only people who were worthy to be his friends should have to be the same. He learned to be true to himself.

On the other hand, the almost eighteen year-old teen was just a month away from officially becoming an adult in his home country, and had become a frequently commissioned hitman who worked freelance. His name was being whispered with growing awe, and he had started to get bigger jobs. That was both good and bad, as it meant more money and fame (which implied that he was in better position to care for his little one), but it also brought a higher risk of death. Not that Renato was careless or sloppy—he would not die that easily when he had something so important to protect—but it was riskier, nonetheless.

Then, one particular night in September, Renato awoke in the familiar shared dreamscape only to be immediately attacked by a small body that flung itself at him, babbling excitedly about his day in an eclectic mix of English and Italian with only a little hint of French. Renato laughed and twirled the happy little boy around, making him squeal in delight and therefore cutting off the unintelligible chatter. He then proceeded to sit himself on the ground with the boy perched on his lap, facing him.

“What has you so excited?” Renato asked teasingly, with just a hint of curiosity shining in his dark eyes. “I couldn't understand a word of what you said before. You have to breathe sometimes, you know.”

The boy pouted petulantly for about a second but then beamed.

“I started school today!” He chirped, gaining all of Renato's attention, who then made a questioning noise in the back of his throat to encourage him to keep going. “And guess what! Miss Turner told me my name is Harry!” He gushed happily and Renato was elated. Finally, finally he had a proper name to call his _bambino!_ He laughed happily, freely, because the boy was obviously delighted to know his name, too, and it was contagious.

He was about to hug _Harry_ (and how good felt to say it, how _right_ ) to his chest when the boy wiggled out of Renato's grasp and stood up in front of him with a serious expression. Renato lifted a brow in question, and watched as Harry stuck out his little hand towards him.

“Is nice to meet you, Mr. Ren. My name is Harry, Harry Potter.”

Renato smirked in amusement and indulged the boy, adopting an air of solemnity and clasping the offered hand firmly. It was a bit ridiculous, seeing as he was still sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, but this way they were both roughly at the same height, so it worked.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Potter. I am Renato Sinclair, at your service.”

Harry beamed again and threw himself at the teen with the intention to hug him around the neck, but his impulse and the lack of warning meant that Renato was not able to prepare himself for it and ended up sprawled on his back with a giggling Harry on top of him.

He huffed out an amused breath and joined in Harry's mirth.

Things were looking up, indeed.

 

 

* * *

**4 – Magic**

* * *

 

Renato learned that Harry was special.

Well, even more special than he always considered him to be.

There had always been signals of it, and at the beginning Renato believed it to be a subconscious use of Harry's Flames. Perhaps Mist Flames, if the descriptions Harry made were accurate.

Like that time he turned his annoying teacher's wig blue, or the times when he would suddenly have small things he wished for in his hand, or the time his Aunt wanted to force him into a particularly ugly cast-off sweater of Dudley and it kept shrinking until it was the ideal size for a doll.

But then there were other incidents that made Renato doubt that conclusion, like the time Harry made his hair grow overnight after Petunia had cut it brutally short. Sun Flames like his own had that capability, but Harry's weren't active, and he rather doubted that the boy could make use of two different types of Flames without activating either.

And then there was the incident with the boa constrictor at the zoo, during Dudley's eleventh birthday.

(Renato was sure that if any Flame gave the user the ability to talk to animals, or even only snakes, the fact would be already widely known in the underworld.)

So Renato was rather doubtful that Harry's abilities had anything to do with Dying Will Flames at all.

Is for that reason alone that he wasn't overly surprised when Harry let him know that a suspicious letter had arrived for him, claiming that he was a wizard and that he was enrolled in a school of magic.

 _Magic_ , of all things.

“And what did you do?” He asked, curious to know how the boy had handled the situation.

“Um,” Harry started sheepishly. “Well, I only opened the letter after I was locked in my cupboard for the night, because I knew it would be stupid to try and read it in front of the Dursleys, so I haven't done anything yet.” He scratched his head and looked at Renato hopefully. “What do you suggest?”

“What were you planning to do?” The twenty two year-old asked instead of answering. He liked to make the boy think for himself and act accordingly. He was also fond of letting him shoulder the consequences of his actions, be they good or bad. How else was he going to learn to be independent? Of course, if Renato thought Harry was biting more than he could chew, he'd stir him away from that path and let him choose another.

Predictably, Harry scowled and grumbled morosely, but obediently thought it over.

“I'll write back,” he said finally. He hesitated a bit before elaborating. “It says there that they await my owl, whatever that means. So I have to write back and confirm that I want to go. And I'll politely request for a member of the staff to come and explain things, because I don't really understand half of what the letter says or where should I go to find the material. The letter was written as if they were expecting me to understand everything…” he mulled that over with a deep frown. “That means that either Vernon or Petunia or both knew about this, and were supposed to teach me.”

“Good. That's an interesting deduction and a solid plan. But don't forget the possibility of this just being a prank. True, the number of specific details makes it sound too elaborate, but you shouldn't just discard it,” he advised. Harry nodded, accepting Renato's point even if they both knew that the letter was more than likely genuine.

Renato could harness the power of his soul via Dying Will Flames, so why shouldn't Harry be able to wield magic?

 

 

* * *

**5 – Minerva McGonagall**

* * *

 

“… and then I got a Snowy Owl. I saw her as we passed Eeylops Owl Emporium and it was like a call, you know? Like if something was guiding me to her, so I bought her. She's beautiful, and her name is Hedwig. I really want you to meet her.”

“And Professor McGonagall didn't protest?”

“Not at all! She said that it was well within the regulations to own one, and then she said that I had chosen a _'very fine specimen, Mr. Potter,_ _I'm sure she'll be a good companion_ _'_ ,” Harry recounted, imitating his new professor's voice.

Harry's gamble had worked out. The morning after they talked, he composed a careful response in a piece of paper torn from an old notebook. In it, he thanked the Deputy Headmistress and politely asked for a representative to be sent to his house at their earliest convenience to explain the magical world to him. He had then dubiously looked outside for a way to send the missive, and to his great surprise, an actual owl had dropped in front of him with its leg extended imperiously in clear invitation. Harry had carefully attached the note to the bird's leg and watched with wonder as it disappeared into the horizon.

The next day, the Deputy Headmistress herself had rung the bell at Number Four, Privet Drive and had almost been thrown out on her behind by his Aunt Petunia. But apparently Professor McGonagall was one of those no-nonsense type of woman who would not accept a no for an answer and had both the ability and the confidence necessary to stand her ground. She barged right in in the politest way Harry had ever seen and immediately commanded the use of the sitting room with only a flick of her wand.

She had sat Harry down and explained succinctly and to the point that yes, magic existed and that there was a hidden society that was full of wizards and witches which had its own government. She also explained that as he was born in it because both his parents were wizards and had attended Hogwarts, his tuition was already paid for. Then she invited him to ask questions and Harry, who was a little information hoarder all on his own but who was also sure that later in a dream Renato would squeeze him dry for more information, took full advantage of it.

He learned more than a lot.

For starters, he was apparently a very famous figure in the Wizarding World. The reason? He was left alive after his parents were murdered the Halloween of 1981 while the Dark Lord who targeted them disappeared. Oh. And the curse scar. That was enough proof to declare him 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' and adore him as if he were some kind of miracle saviour or the next Messiah. Neither Harry nor McGonagall were happy with that, and Harry was correct when he assumed that Renato wouldn't be, either.

_(“Your family was targeted by a crazy murdering wizard and your parents were killed right in front of you. You were left an orphan, survived with head trauma, and were immediately shipped to your horrible relatives. And instead of thinking of your well being all they managed to do was celebrate the end of the war and put you in some kind of pedestal? Without your knowledge? And then they dared use your name and your image to commercialize a huge range of products and books without your consent? Yeah, well. We're filing a lawsuit. They won't get another penny—knut—whatever it is called. I'm sure those wicked goblins that run the bank will be more than happy to do it for you.”)_

After two hours of continuous interrogation over biscuits and tea (and a severe reprimand to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon when they tried to interrupt and insist that Harry was not going off to play magic tricks anywhere), McGonagall finally convinced Harry to let her take him to Diagon Alley to buy his textbooks and the rest of the materials he needed for the start of his schooling. Harry tried to protest—he had many things he still didn't have answers to!—but the woman promised to continue answering as they moved, so the boy relented.

Harry memorized the way to the Alley— _“_ _Always know where you are and how you got there! You never know when that information will be useful”_ —and the pattern that revealed its hidden entrance. Then he was momentarily amazed by the magic he could almost feel emanating from all the different shops.

After the visit to Gringotts and a small chat with the goblins, Harry went all out. He now had money to spend, and he was going to _use it_.

He bought clothes for school and some for daily wear, and planned to convert some of his gold into pounds to buy a sensible normal wardrobe afterwards. He also bought the standard potions kit and replacements for all his ingredients. He bought a trunk with two compartments and an extension charm build up inside, to which he added two extras features for an extra galleon: a shrinking charm and a password to open it. He eyed a backpack with similar enchantments and added it to his list of purchases.

Then he went for the books, amusing Profssor McGonagall to no end with the small library he insisted on buying.

_(“Well, Mr. Potter. I believe I won't be seeing you in Gryffindor come September, after all. It's a pity, as I was looking forwards to have you in my house, but I'm sure you will have an excellent time in Ravenclaw.”)_

The wand and Hedwig were the very last stops before the Professor accompanied him back home.

Then the woman insisted on helping Harry unpack his new things and Petunia was forced to show them to the guest's room if she didn't want to lose even more face and risk to provoke the wrath of an armed and powerful witch.

It was an understatement, saying that McGonagall had not been in the least bit impressed with the obvious unused room. She had rounded on Petunia and had stated in a calm yet predatory tone that she was going to make some slight changes to _Harry's room_ , and that she sincerely hoped that they would _stay there_ from then on. Petunia hastily agreed, and McGonagall was generous enough to inform her that she was going to be personally talking to Mr. Dursley about the matter at hand, and that she was now free to go and do whatever she normally did on Thursday nights.

The witch then proceeded to ask Harry what he wanted done and Harry enthusiastically started to make suggestions, giddy with the knowledge that he now had a proper room and that the Dursleys were not going to kick him out and lock him in the cupboard the moment the older woman left the house.

Minerva McGonagall became in that moment both a little boy's and a hitman's second favourite person in the whole world. (The first being each other, of course.)

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* _Here it is. Take this away from me._
> 
> Enjoy!

**WISPS OF SMOKE AND COLOURFUL SOULS**

**II**

 

* * *

**6 – Heir**

* * *

 

Harry was glad that he had asked for the extra enchantments when he bought his trunk.

Hedwig's cage alone was enough to call attention to himself, and Harry honestly didn't like it. With his trunk shrunk inside his backpack, he had an easier time of waving through the masses until he reached the barrier which separated platforms 9 and 10.

He took a deep breath and calmly walked through the seemingly solid wall. He counted seven steps and stopped, figuring that he had already crossed the barrier. He peered around with one of his eyes half-open. Only when he realized that he was, in fact, in front of a humongous scarlet train and in no danger of stamping his face against a brick wall did he exhale. Loudly.

He smiled slightly and relaxed his posture, adjusting the straps of his bag over his thin shoulders, and then started curiously making his way around the deserted platform.

As per Ren's request, he had arrived a good hour earlier to inspect both the platform and the train before the place became full of noisy wizards and witches of all ages. Harry didn't mind. Sure, he didn't have it that bad at his relatives', and it had improved a lot more since Professor McGonagall's visit in July (he had his own _bedroom_ now!), but he had been rather eager to remove himself from the house and get as far away from its inhabitants as he could, anyway. It would be nine full months before he had to see them again, and Harry couldn't be happier.

Well, actually, he could.

It would have been nice to have Ren there to see him off, but Harry had understood that it was impossible.

The eleven-year-old didn't know what _exactly_ Ren did for a living, but he knew that it was _really_ dangerous. He also knew that sometimes it required Ren to leave Italy altogether and hide. (Harry suspected that he was some kind of super-secret-spy, like those in the shows he sometimes caught a glimpse of whenever Dudley was watching them on the sitting room. It fit. The man was always dressed in black and very nicely, and when he wore his hat—“ _it's a_ fedora _, kid. A fedora. Not a h_ _at”_ —he looked really mysterious and cool. And the gun. One just couldn't forget the gun.)

When Ren told him that he was not going to be able to make it in time, Harry had been understandably upset, but accepted it as a fact of life. Ren had sworn that they would meet one day and that after that they would never be separated again, and Harry believed him. He could be patient. (That didn't mean that he couldn't be sad.)

Harry looked around the platform for about five minutes and, after surmising that there was nothing particularly interesting about it, he decided to scout the train and select a compartment.

At eleven, he was glad he had chosen to do so.

Hundreds of Hogwarts students had crossed the barrier, in many cases accompanied by their entire families, just with fifteen minutes to spare. The crowd was lively and not a little bit frantic, with tearful goodbyes and last minute warnings being exchanged at the top of their lungs.

The smaller kids were struggling to walk around their older classmates to get inside the train, Harry noticed absently, and then he grimaced in sympathy as he saw one chubby blond boy trip and let go of his toad. He would have a hard time finding it, Harry mused.

Then, the door of his compartment opened and someone addressed him. “Excuse us. Do you mind if we sit here?”

Harry turned away from the window and assessed the one who spoke. It was an older boy with dark skin and messy curls, who was carefully holding a cardboard box. He was smiling cheerfully and his eyes sparkled with mischief. Harry liked him immediately.

“I don't,” he said sincerely and motioned to the empty seats with his hand. “Be my guests.”

“Are you sure?” Another voice questioned from behind the first boy. A redhead teen with a wicked grin poked his head over the dark-skinned boy's left shoulder. “We wouldn't want to impose—”

“—as you are obviously a little ickle first year—”

“—and we have a big scary spider right there—”

“—in that box.”

“We wouldn't want to spook you, you see.”

Harry blinked bemusedly at the second redhead that looked exactly the same as the first. He would be lying if he said that he had been expecting the weird and slightly confusing twin-speak, but Harry could not say that it wasn't interesting and even fun.

The three boys were expectantly waiting for Harry's reaction, but if they thought he was going to bolt at the mention of a simple spider, they had another thing coming.

“Oooh, a spider! Is it a tarantula? My Hedwig loves snacking on them, and I imagine most owls are the same. You'll have to be careful with it if you don't want it to get eaten at Hogwarts! I've heard that there is an owlery full of them!” The small boy grinned brightly at them, almost pulling his completely innocent act while delivering the subtle threat. In fact, the boys didn't seem to notice it for a full minute in which they just blinked at him uncomprehendingly. When the words finally sunk, three eerily similar and dangerously devious smiles stretched upon their lips.

“Oooh, I like you,” redhead number two declared grandly as he fully entered the compartment, carrying his luggage behind him. “I guess you're not just a regular little ickle firstie, I judged you too quickly. Mmm… no. Not regular. Gred?”

“What, my dear Forge?”

“I think this firstie has it. You know? The aura.”

“The aura?” Redhead number one asked as he helped his brother to put the trunks on the racks over their heads. He eyed Harry critically for a second while the boy with the spider took a seat across from the first year. “Yeah, I agree. I totally agree.”

“He has _the_ aura.”

“He does.”

Harry lifted an eyebrow and looked questioningly at the boy across from him, but his only answer was an amused quirk of the lips and an annoyingly knowing wink. The twins exchanged glances and then nodded decisively before turning their intense gazes towards Harry, who was suddenly hit with the urge to _run._

“It has been decided. You, my friend, have been declared eligible to become the fourth heir of the marvellous—”

“—amazing—”

“—genius—”

“—incomparable—”

“—incredible—”

“—inspiring—”

“—troublemakers of all times!”

“My friend, you have just proved yourself worthy to inherit, together with my twin George here and my good friend Lee there, not to forget my beautiful self, one of Hogwarts' most sought after legacies!”

“One of the most coveted!”

“You have been chosen to become one of the heirs of the Marauders!” they finished dramatically, crying in unison, and Harry could almost picture the chaos that would befall the castle once term started.

(… He couldn't wait.)

 

* * *

 **7 –** **Fraud**

* * *

 

“—betrayed!”

“Cruelty, I tell you! Cruelty!”

“He must have done it on purpose, he's devious like that!”

“I knew it. I knew we shouldn't have trusted those sparkling green eyes!”

The morning of September second encountered Harry, new proud member of the House of Ravenclaw, blinking owlishlyas he was suddenly ambushed outside the Great Hall after he had finished eating breakfast. His assailants were none other than two melodramatic and much too energetic red-headed twins.

“Wha—?”

“But really, Gred. We should have known better. When the little lad introduced himself as none other than Harry Potter, we should have know that we were barking up the wrong tree.”

“I know, Forge, I know. But who would have imagined the Wizarding World's Golden Boy was not to be sorted in Gryffindor?”

“I cry fraud! The Sorting Hat must have made a mistake!”

“We must demand a resorting!”

“Please, ignore the idiots,” Lee Jordan said as he took the boys by the back of their robes and forced them to get away from Harry's personal space. He gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. They are still smarting from the fact that their chosen heir was sorted into another House. Don't worry, they'll get over it sooner or later.”

“But Lee!” Fred Weasley whined childishly. “You don't understand, he had to be Gryffindor! He was supposed to be Gryffindor! How are we going to prank everyone if one quarter of the quartet is in another House?”

“But—Aren't we covering more bases this way? I mean, now I will have inside information of my House, which would surely help. And I'm sure that if we work our way around our different timetables, we'll even have more options in regards to alibis…”

His comments were met with stunned silence. Harry studied his friends with curiosity. Suddenly, their eyes started sparkling with unholy glee and their smiles became honestly terrifying.

“I knew it! I knew we had taken the best decision in our lives!” Fred cried excitedly, hand pumped up in victory while his twin started swaying from side to side in a ridiculous parody of a victory dance.

Lee rolled his eyes heavenwards and visibly prayed for patience, but the subtle smile at the corner of his lips revealed his amusement. Harry shrugged and then laughed.

(He felt this was going to be a great year.)

 

* * *

**8 – Classes**

* * *

 

 

The first class of his first year of magical education should have been mesmerizing. It should have made him gape and stare and 'ooooh' in the way that learning about Flames had been. Harry had been prepared to be witness to more amazing feats of magic like those he had seen Professor McGonagall do when she came for him at the Dursleys.

Having to suffer through double period of monotonous warbling about Goblin Wars without any kind of introduction what-so-ever to the subject was not something that Harry would ever consider even remotely interesting.

(Even when he knew for a fact that the subject _was_ interesting—he had read the textbook beforehand, and also been thoroughly quizzed on it by Ren—and wasn't that just sad? How could a professor be so boring to reduce a bloody, aggressive piece of history to something similar to a lullaby? And the man was dead! He was a _ghost_ , but not even that seemed to make it more interesting! Harry was honestly aggravated.)

The less-than-stellar start of his Hogwart classes was mostly redeemed when second period started—it was Transfiguration, with the Hufflepuffs. McGonagall was great, and started the class with a bang when she jumped from her desk while transforming back into human form after having been watching the class for a while, disguised as a tabby cat. Everyone had been suitably impressed. Ernie McMillan even screamed and fell from his chair, having been really startled as he had been sitting on one of the first seats.

(Transfiguring a matchstick to a needle wasn't half as fun as turning into an animal, but Harry was driven to perfect it because it was the very first step to reach the point in which he _could_ do something like that. He wondered which kind of animal would he be able to turn into? Did he even have a choice? Would he be able to prank Ren with it? Oh, the _possibilities!_ _)_

Then the rest of the week he had had his other classes. Thankfully, none other was as boring as History of Magic had been, so he was fairly happy that his first impression had been wrong.

Professor Snape was weird though. The man didn't seem to like him for whatever reason, and called him out during the very first lesson. Harry was then really, really glad that Ren was such a Spartan teacher, because he very much doubted that he would have been able to answer the rapid fired questions correctly if he hadn't memorized the book already. He had answered calmly and correctly, which earned him a disdainful sneer but no more singling out in class, at least. He brewed his Boil-Cure Potion with much care and it didn't receive another word than a 'passable' from the stern teacher when he had finished it, but Harry actually took it as a compliment. That had been the highest praise, if he considered that most of his classmates had been corrected and reprimanded rather harshly for either using the equipment incorrectly or crushing the snake fangs in the wrong way, among other things.

(He left that class in a state of confusion. Had he done something to deserve Snape's dislike? He didn't think so—he had been polite, and he hadn't even made his debut as a prankster with The Troublesome Three. In any case, Harry would wait and see. Perhaps the Professor simply had a prickly personality and that day it just happened to focus on Harry. It was too early to judge.)

And for the record, he didn't think that Snape was the weirdest of his Professors.

Quirrell won that place single-handedly and without any real contestant. Harry hated how his curse scar hurt whenever he was near him, and he felt horrible when he was inside his classroom. He would be sharing his concerns with Ren whenever he saw him again.

He was the only one he trusted to talk about it.

 

* * *

**9 - Worries**

* * *

  
“Are you sure he's fine?”

“Uh—”

“Madam Pomfrey checked him and said that there was nothing wrong with him.”

“Except he looks like a zombie.”

“A what?”

“A zombie. You know…? Dead brought back to life, rotten flesh, eat brains?”

“Ah, Inferi! But… Inferi don't eat,” Boot said, watching his companion dubiously. Finch-Fletchley groaned and hid his face behind his hands. Harry listened with half an ear from his own table in the Library, and some part of him recognized that he would have found that funny normally—honestly it was such a _pureblood_ thing to say—but he was not in the right state of mind to do so now.

To be completely frank, he was worried sick.

It had been over a month since he had started school, thirty two days to be exact, and in that time there had been not a single dream shared with Ren.

He was starting to panic.

Harry knew that it was not really normal to share as much dreams with his soulmate as he had been doing all his life. In fact, most of the students in his age group had not seen their soulmate even once yet, and probably wouldn't until much later in their lives. Harry was an exception, and he had never been more thankful for being abnormal. He didn't even like to imagine what could have become of him if Ren hadn't been there to hug him after a bad day, and he honestly didn't want to find out.

There had been times in which the dreams spaced for over a week, but that was a rare occurrence. Not being able to contact him for more was—

Excruciating. Painful.

Terrifying.

(Because… what if something _happened_ to Renato? What if he was hurt? What if he was _dead?_ Harry could not bear to think about it.)

His worry had been slow to appear, and slower to be reflected on his appearance or his mannerisms. He had learned from the best, after all, and while he was in no way close to imitating the way Ren carried himself and was able to control his body, Harry was proficient enough to deceive the eyes of his peers.

The firsts to note something was different were, of course, his troublesome friends. Fred and George, for all their goofing around, were very sharp and attentive. They had to be, to get away with as many pranks as they did completely unscathed. They distracted him as much as they could since the moment he became obviously taciturn, and had even made him genuinely laugh many times. He was grateful.

If only he could lie his fears to rest.

(If only that night he would finally dream of Ren.)

“—and, I'd be g-grateful if-if you do.”

Harry blinked and focused his gaze on the person in front of him. Longbottom, a first year Gryffindor Harry had met in the train when the boy had been looking for his escapee toad together with the Granger girl, was fidgeting slightly with the hem of his robes as he watched Harry from the corner of his eye. He had asked something. Ooops.

“Er, sorry, Longbottom,” he apologized sheepishly and the boy's hopeful face crumbled. Harry winced internally. “I wasn't paying attention and I don't know what was it that you asked.”

“Oh,” he exhaled, and his disappointment vanished and was replaced by a slight flush on chubby cheeks. He moved his weight from one foot to the other. “Okay. Um.”

“What was it?”

“Ah! Well, I don't know if you've heard but—Potions I am—not really good at them and…” the boy stuttered out. Yes, Harry had heard. Ravenclaw had Potions with Hufflepluff on Fridays right after the double Slytherin-Gryffindor class ended. It wasn't weird for them to be warned off with a sneer not to follow Longbottom's example and melt the cauldron, or similar things. “I heard that you were good. And I've seen you here studying and I was wondering if—if you'd be able to tutor me?” He finished in a hopeful but strangled tone, as if he were completely expecting a quick turn down.

Harry thought about it for half a second before shrugging.

“Sure, why not? Sit.”

Perhaps this could help distract him a bit from his worries. He could at least try.

Longbottom beamed at him and left to find his things before hurriedly coming back and sitting in front of Harry. He looked so eager, and Harry felt a little bad about not warning the boy of his tutoring methods. He had been tutored by _Renato_ , after all. Harry was bound to recreate at least _some_ of his teaching methods.

(Poor Neville did not know what he had just signed up for.)

 

* * *

**10 - Reunion**

* * *

 

Harry blinked, and blinked again.

His eyes grew wide as he recognized the colourful space in which he was now standing. A warm sensation bubbled in his stomach and spread throughout his whole body, and he could feel the massive smile that had blossomed on his face stretching his cheeks almost painfully.

“Ren?” he whispered, out of breath. He then took a big gulp of air and bellowed again, “Ren? Are you here?”

Without knowing where he was going or why, he started running. Renato had to be here somewhere. He just needed to find him. If he ran, then he surely would.

“Ren?! REN?!”

“Harry!” The voice called from behind, and Harry stopped in his tracks and brusquely turned around. He was immediately engulfed in a hug and lifted off his feet, and Harry clung to him with both arms and legs like a monkey.

“Ren!” He was aware that he sounded a bit hysterical. Clutching the back of the man's shirt, he struggled to keep the tears at bay. “Ren. Ren. Ren.”

“Shh, I'm here. I'm finally here. We are here,” he shushed, voice rougher than Harry had ever heard it. “Thank God.”

They didn't say anything else for a solid ten minutes, content in being in the other's presence. Then, Renato put him down and both of them sat on the floor, eyes making sure that the other was in fact in front of them, safe and sound.

“You've grown, _bambino._ ”

Harry frowned and looked down at himself, evaluating. “Really?” He looked at Ren, who nodded. “Uh. I don't feel much different. Though there is much more food here than at the Dursleys', so maybe that's it.”

Ren smiled, though it had the slightly dark ominous tint his smile usually acquired once Harry's relatives were mentioned. “How is Hogwarts? How much have you learned?” He said, changing the direction of the conversation to safer grounds.

Harry perked up. “Hogwarts is—it's great, actually. I don't like my History professor much, he's a ghost and makes _Goblin Wars_ boring, Renato! But Professor McGonagall is just as amazing as I thought. And then there is flying lessons, which are just incredible. Ren, I need to get a broom and take you on a flight sometime, I know you'll love it. Oh! We had a Halloween Feast tonight and everyone panicked because apparently a Mountain Troll entered the castle, and a Gryffindor girl would have been in trouble if I didn't tell McGonagall that she was missing, oh, and I'm a Ravenclaw, and I'm almost sure that it was Quirrell who let the Troll in, I don't like him, he's—”

Ren cut him off with a hand over his mouth and an amused chuckle.

“What have I told you about breathing while you talk, Harry? You are babbling.”

Harry batted the offending appendage away and then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I just—there is so much to tell you, Ren!”

“I can imagine, it has been two long months, after all.”

Harry lost a bit of his cheer at that. “What—why do you think this happened? We've—Never before we've been separated this long.”

Renato grimaced and tugged his fedora down, obscuring his eyes as he usually did whenever he was thinking deeply or when he was uncomfortable with something. He then sighed and took it off, letting his spiky hair be free.

“I don't know, Harry. I have only half-cooked theories at the moment, and none of them can really be tested because there is so little known about soulmate bonds,” he admitted bitterly, and Harry knew how much Ren _hated_ not knowing things.

“Oh, that's—I mean—everything at school was okay, I even made friends! But I was scared something happened to you, when I didn't see you for so long.”

“It was the same for me, kiddo. Don't worry, though. Nothing bad happened to me. In fact, these last month I've been negotiating a contract with a big employer, which means that hopefully I soon may be able to take you away from the Dursleys for good.”

Harry's eyes sparkled at that. That was amazing! “Really! I can't wait!”

“Me neither, _bambino._ Me neither,” Ren chuckled and messed up Harry's hair with his hand. “Now, you mentioned friends and a professor you don't like at all. And a _Troll._ Care to elaborate?”

Grinning, Harry started to tell Renato all about Fred and George Weasley, his other friend Lee Jordan and his pet tarantula, and the whole lot of mischief they've been up to since they met at the beginning of term and until the quite strange Halloween Feast that same night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't wait for first year to be OVER. Interesting things start at the second!
> 
> Thank you so much for putting up with me and my messy updates! :') I hope you enjoyed this silly thing, even when I don't know when I will have more for you.
> 
> Let me know what you think, please? :-)

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcome. Prompts are welcome, too. Please **don't ask** when it's going to be updated, because I sincerely don't know. When (and _if_ ) I have more, I'll post it.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! :-)
> 
> PS. You're free to come and talk to me on [tumblr](http://kurosakiami01.tumblr.com)! :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Bond Cut Short](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15464673) by [Wingzrooke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wingzrooke/pseuds/Wingzrooke)




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